


Through Despair and Hope

by fluffernutter8



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Peggy is a CIA agent, Steggytimes Day, sort of fluffy and slightly overdramatic, steve is a teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 20:52:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9786431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffernutter8/pseuds/fluffernutter8
Summary: All Peggy wants to do is successfully take care of her niece while her brother is away. Then she meets Sharon's kindergarten teacher.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Got carried away, but this was written (belatedly!) for Steggytimes 2017 on tumblr. Inspired by this [this](http://apictureofspace.tumblr.com/post/148658593771/endless-list-of-marvel-aus-11-steve-peggy) post.

As a girl, Peggy had never been particularly devoted to dolls. As a woman, she needed little more than a pistol, her badge, and fresh lipstick, and all of these were optional if it came down to it. Perhaps if she’d had more experience with Barbie’s accessories or an emergency dive into a large, overcrowded purse, she might have been slightly more prepared for the sheer number of accoutrements a five year old girl required to go to school.

“Alright, is everything finally in order?” Peggy says, looking around the foyer as if further school supplies or extra clothes might leap from the walls. She jiggles her keys in her hand, avoiding looking at the clock. She doesn’t need that sort of judgement.

Sharon pokes through her backpack one last time, then nods decisively and shoulders it. “We can go.”

By the time they pull into the parking lot of Sharon’s school, they are barely clinging to the acceptable drop-off time. Luckily, Peggy had scheduled to be a little late to work today, and Sharon knows the way to her classroom. Her hand lies small and trusting in Peggy’s as they walk through the double front doors.

Inside it is quieter than Peggy had expected, but bright and welcoming in a way that makes her smile. The halls are unfortunate gray-violet but are covered in (presumably) student artwork, except for one wall, which has a large mural of a field. A huge, graceful outline of a tree sits in the center, the leaves made of multicolored construction paper handprints, each one belonging to a student. On the trunk, someone has written _There is no one alive who is Youer than You!_ in neat, colorful handwriting.

Before Peggy can really take it in, Sharon is pulling her into a classroom. Beyond the door it is a little louder, students chattering in small groups as they hang up their coats and bags or work at the low tables.

It’s all actually remarkably well-organized. Peggy finds herself slightly impressed as she takes it in.

“Good morning, Sharon.” Peggy doesn’t know how she missed the teacher before he walks over. He’s all blue eyes and pretty cheekbones, soft hair and useful hands. She’s impressed by him as well.

He stares at her a second too long as well, though, so she doesn’t feel too off-put.

“Hi, Mr. Rogers,” Sharon says, glittering a smile up at him.

Mr. Rogers crouches neatly in front of her. “Do you have anything to share?”

“My dad went away for his work, so I get to stay with Aunt Peggy until he’s back,” Sharon says. There’s something in her pause, even though the smile is still on her face, that catches Peggy’s attention.

Mr. Rogers is listening as well. His eyes don’t leave Sharon’s as he says, “Aunt Peggy looks like a lot of fun, and I think that when your dad comes back, he’ll be jealous of all the amazing things you got to do with her.”

“I agree,” says Peggy. “I'm quite a lot of fun,” and Sharon smiles between them both and goes to put her things away.

Mr. Rogers stands again, watching Sharon for a moment. Then he turns and extends a hand.

“Steve Rogers.”

“Peggy Carter.”

“Sorry about that.” He somehow manages to turn away, monitoring the classroom, while still sounding sincere. “I try to get the news out of them early so they aren't jumping out of their skins to share at circle time, but usually it's…”

“Not as significant,” she nods. “I apologize. My brother was called away fairly suddenly over the weekend.”

“How's Sharon handling it?”

“Well enough. I think it helped that she knew it might happen.” Michael might try his best to be at home, but he couldn't always control when he was called away.

Mr. Rogers shrugs. “It's probably still hard.” Peggy looks at him sharply, and he raises a hand. “I'm not worried, though. Sharon's very capable. She has a lot of direction.”

Peggy has accompanied Sharon to various places and events. She's heard plenty of people describe her niece: beautiful, adorable, precocious even. But this is the first time someone has truly found the heart of the way Peggy sees Sharon.

“I agree.” She looks at him again, and there is a nearly unforgivable second where she doesn’t remember that they’re surrounded by kindergarteners. Thankfully, her phone buzzes and she can turn gracefully away. “I apologize, but I have to go.”

“Sure,” he says. “See you later,” and maybe she's imagining it, but it seems that he faces the door for a few unnecessary seconds before turning back and calling a five minute warning to the class.

* * *

They’re out of the house more quickly on Tuesday morning (Peggy had made sure to prepare Sharon’s lunch and confirm the contents of her backpack the night before) but still on the tail end of the morning’s arrivals. Sharon’s class starts at music today, so Peggy drops her off there, exchanging sympathetic, wincing smiles with the teacher, who is gamely trying to get the group to play with something approaching rhythm.

She is determined to walk right past Mr. Rogers’s classroom, but as she approaches the door she realizes that the pen in her pocket is not her own, but the special anti-gravity one that Sharon had decided on as her show and tell for the day. Steeling herself with thoughts of how absolutely unacceptable it would be to get involved with her niece’s teacher, she enters the classroom.

Her intention is only to slip the pen into Sharon’s cubby and leave, but she’s caught despite herself. Without his students to see, Steve sits on his desk, leaning back on his palms with his head tilted as he contemplates one of his bulletin boards- stripped bare of the alphabet cutouts that had been there yesterday- with a dreamy seriousness.

There’s nothing to be done- she needs to move- but as soon as she starts across the room, he startles.

“Ms. Carter,” he says, slightly breathless.

“Peggy, please, Mr. Rogers.”

“Steve.” Peggy nods, as if she hasn’t already started referring to him that way already.

“I was just going to leave this for Sharon.” She gestures with the pen toward Sharon’s cubby.

“Show and tell day. It can be rough. I’ll make sure she gets it.” Somehow, the light humor of it lacks conviction when he waits several seconds to put out his hand for it. “I’m sure you have to get to work,” he says once he’s tucked the pen into the pocket of his khakis.

Her face twitches into a grimace for what she had hoped was a brief enough second, but he catches it anyway.

He plays with the pen in his pocket, laughing a little. “That bad?”

“Data analysis doesn’t suit me.” She’s more successful at keeping neutral this time, although she doesn’t feel any such thing.

After Laura had died, Michael had begged her to help him with Sharon. He had already been discharged from the army so he could properly care for his daughter, but even as a civilian contractor, his diplomacy liaison work sometimes meant that he would need to be away. The two of them had been raised with the help of quite a few staff members who they both remembered fondly, but it wasn’t the way either of them wanted to see Sharon grow up.

Peggy knew other, lesser agents than herself who had been pressed and bribed when they wanted to resign or transfer to another department. Few of her supervisors had said a thing when she asked to be removed from field duty. It was as if they had been expecting it, counting down the days until she took on motherhood, and she could not set down the bitterness of that.

“I think you’re probably suited to nearly anything,” Steve says, the words reaching gently, blushing and warm, toward her.

“Oh, I’m very good at what I do. I’d just prefer to be doing something else.” She recalls her face to neutral, (she _cannot_ become involved with Sharon’s teacher) and gestures toward the cork he has bared on the wall, just polite with a slight humor. “Even bulletin board decoration seems preferable.”

He glances quickly toward it as if he’s forgotten. “Right.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I had thought I would put up some stuff about community helpers- you know, police, firefighters, doctors, mail carriers, like that- but then I realized that not all my kids would have the same associations with them that I do and the room is supposed to be for them.”

The consideration of it strikes her, the small details, the respect for a perspective that so many people wouldn’t have even realized existed, much less taken seriously. She had been the first person Michael called when Sharon had hit her pediatrician the spring after Laura died, and she might not even have thought of it. “That’s thoughtful of you,” she says, her voice warming despite herself.

“I’m very good at what I do, too,” he says, hands finally still in his pockets as he grins.

She truly hopes that he doesn’t use that smile in front of the children.

* * *

Steve’s school day ends, as far as Peggy has determined, at 3 P.M. while Sharon stays for the extended day program waiting for Peggy to pick her up.

So it’s a surprise when Peggy arrives on Wednesday evening to find Steve helping to supervise the students.

“Aunt Peggy!” Sharon comes over in that full-on, loose-limbed pelt that children seem to lose as they get older.

“Hello, darling.” Peggy braces herself, wrapping her arms around Sharon’s shoulders as her niece burrows against her waist.

Sharon is not typically so affectionate, especially after having seen Peggy daily for a while. Holding off a dark shadow of worry, Peggy automatically looks to catch Steve’s eye questioningly, only to find that he’s come over next to them.

“Okay, Sharon, what did you decide? Do you want to be part of the discussion, or should I talk to Aunt Peggy alone?”

Sharon wrinkles up her face, considering, and finally says, “Aunt Peggy will talk to me at home if she wants to.” She goes to sit at one of the tables closest to the door, takes a book out of her bag, and starts to read.

Peggy turns back to Steve, questioning after all. He shrugs. “It’s good to give them choices and responsibilities in their own lives.”

“Alright,” Peggy says, digesting this quickly to try to avoid the flare of affection it brings. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

When he says, “Sharon hit someone on the playground,” the denial comes up reflexively, but she stops it and waits for him to continue. “From what I can tell, one of the other kids was teasing her and her friend, and Sharon snapped.” His fist swings minorly between them. “Got him pretty good, too.”

Peggy lifts an eyebrow, trying not to feel just a little bit of pride. She was the one who taught Sharon how to throw a proper punch. Michael had said that kindergarten was too young, but Peggy thought the daughter of a soldier/diplomat and niece of a CIA agent living in New York City might have opportunity to need to protect herself.

Steve tucks his hand into his pockets. “I feel like a hypocrite calling her out on it- I spent my school years in trouble for fighting bullies, and from what I can tell she was doing it to stand up for a friend and broke fewer bones doing it than I would have- but I’m supposed to encourage talking through problems.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to talk to Sharon tonight,” Peggy says smoothly. Steve raises an eyebrow, exhaling a chuckle, and she knows that he’s aware that Sharon will get a minute long lecture about diplomacy when possible, and then ice cream for dessert.

“Try not to actually use the word congratulations when you have your discussion.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Peggy says breezily, and as Steve goes to help one of the kids with his homework, she makes herself take Sharon home.

* * *

Apparently criminals should stop headquartering themselves in abandoned warehouses and factories and switch to old elementary schools. As cheerful as Peggy knows the school is during the day, the nighttime version is more naturally frightening than most places she’s gone on assignments.

Still, she presses forward. Now that she’s gone through the effort of calling the Jarvises to watch a sleeping Sharon and broken into the school building, she has to at least return home with her company phone.

She picks the lock on the door to the front office, and rifles through the lost and found box, then when that brings no results, moves onto the auditorium.

The phone is wedged into the floor against the short stage, near where Sharon had been sitting that afternoon. Peggy checks it over as she walks back toward the front hallway. She doesn’t have a portable fingerprint lab or a tech to go over it in depth, but she’s relatively satisfied that although it is in working order, it hasn’t been touched since Sharon’s careless swinging of Peggy’s jacket had knocked it out of the pocket earlier that afternoon.

“What are you doing here?” Peggy looks up instantly. Steve doesn’t sound alarmed, just a bit abrupt as he stands in the dim light of the exit sign.

“What are you doing here?”

“I just finished touching up the mural.” He gestures toward the wall, and she although she can’t see the shine of fresh paint, he is holding a pair of brushes. “This was the only time I knew it would have long enough to dry.” He comes closer. “Also, I’m an employee. With a key.”

“I tend not to need those.” In the silence, she can hear his footsteps, hear herself shifting. “I just needed to pick up my phone.”

“I guess it’s a pretty important phone if you decided to break into a school at 9 P.M.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to seem cavalier about office property.”

“That’s very responsible of you.”

“I do aspire to be fairly responsible.”

There’s no signal, no swelling music or dropped curtain, but somehow her hand is clenched around his shirt, his arms solid against her back.

As much as she swore that she wouldn’t, she’s imagined this, and the reality is better. His mouth sparks easily against hers, and she forgets reason and promise and lets it go on until he holds onto her more tightly and the paintbrushes in his fist jab into her back and make her remember.

It is too dark to use that as a gauge, but she suspects that it has been a while. She steps away, presses her hands into her pockets, gripping the phone.

“We can’t,” she almost says, but she knows even without the details of his face that he understands, he finds the prospect terrible.

She can’t help but agree.

* * *

Sharon wakes up cheerful on Friday, but the weather is gray and awful and Peggy doesn’t even realize what the date is until the barista calls a “Happy Valentine’s Day!” after her.

She manages to drop Sharon off without going into the classroom, and she only lets herself get distracted for a moment by the bright, enormous mural that now seems so obviously Steve’s. She squares her shoulders and plugs away through the day, keeps her temper with Sharon because she knows that none of this is her fault.

Halfway through dinner, as Sharon takes a breath between stories of her day, Peggy hears something outside the door.

She holds a finger to her lips, putting a hand to her holster. Sharon’s eyes go wide, but she knows to stay put. Peggy moves toward the door on silent feet, flinging it open and bringing her gun up into Steve’s widened eyes.

“Damn it!” She holsters her gun and yanks him inside.

“Should I be putting my hands up?” he says, looking only slightly less shocked .

“Why not just show me what’s in them?”

“Right.” He gives her the piece of construction paper he’s holding. “It’s actually Sharon’s. I don’t like doing Valentine’s in school, but everyone wrote a note to someone who means something to them, and she forgot hers, so…”

“Oh, it’s my note! Thanks, Mr. Rogers!” Sharon comes into the hall without thought to the strangeness of her teacher tracking her down to drop off a single sheet of paper or the frown her aunt throws her for leaving the kitchen without being told. She takes the card from Peggy and then hands it back to her formally. “I’m sorry I forgot it, Aunt Peggy. I wrote it about you.”

Sharon had chosen green paper and the dark shade hides much of the picture she’s drawn, but Peggy still recognizes the two of them holding hands. She holds it carefully as she bends to hug Sharon.

“Will you hang it on the refrigerator? I want to be able to read it in the light.” Sharon nods and skips back to the kitchen. “Pick the best magnet,” Peggy calls after her. She watches for a moment before turning back, forcing herself to face Steve. “Thank you for bringing it over.”

“She’s important to you,” and she can’t tell what question he’s answering. “She’s important to me too. All my kids are important to me. But…” He swallows, ducking his head briefly. “I think you could be important to me too.”

She knows how foolish it is to feel despondent over a man who she’s known for just days, who she’s spoken to for only moments, all told. And nevertheless, the pain of it shoves bluntly beneath her ribs because she thinks he could be important to her too.

“I can’t do that to Sharon. She lost her mother, her father is taken away from her without warning. She doesn’t need her aunt getting into a relationship with her teacher. And that’s not mentioning the potential ethical issues.”

He spreads his hands. “I don’t think it will ruin Sharon’s life if we start seeing each other. And there aren’t any rules against it. I checked.” The casual desperation of his voice, the attempt to hide the strain, nearly makes her smile but in the end she just wraps her sweater around herself and shakes her head.

“Alright,” he says, inhaling and smoothing the bite of pain away from his face. “Alright. Tell Sharon I’ll see her tomorrow.” And he leaves into the rain.

* * *

Michael comes back Saturday night, his drained look disappearing as he swings Sharon up into his arms. Peggy spends a week noticing all over again the gray of her office, the quiet of her house. She paints her toenails and watches her favorite movies, goes out with Angie and finds new takeout places in her neighborhood. She thinks about her own wholeness, and tries not to consider how she never even had to think about it before.

* * *

Her phone rings in the middle of the night on Sunday. Fifteen minutes later, Michael drops Sharon off, half dozing in his arms, ruining the cleanly ironed lines of his shirt. He kisses Peggy on the cheek and is out the door before she can even ask if he’s packed Sharon’s lunch.

Peggy expects Sharon to go to sleep as soon as she’s back in the bedroom Peggy has set up for her. But instead her niece snuggles beneath the covers, turns to her sleepily, and says, “We have to remember to be nice to Mr. Rogers tomorrow. Last week he didn’t laugh almost at all and everyone wants him not to be sad anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The statement comes automatically, as if Sharon were another adult delivering bad news. Peggy looks away, tightening the belt of her robe.

“He should come over for dinner. I think he would be good in our family,” Sharon says, and without a yawn, without a blink, she is asleep.

Peggy sits awake beside her for a long while.

* * *

They both wake up tired, but get through their morning routine with a familiar sort of settling and are out the door in plenty of time.

Only a few of the other children are there when they arrive. Peggy brings Sharon all the way into the classroom this time, watching as she runs over to her friends, chattering as they put away their things.

“She’s doing really well,” Steve says from behind Peggy’s shoulder. He might be the only person she’s ever met to be able to say it earnestly, without accusation, despite what happened between them.

He looks slightly wan when she turns to face him, below his usual healthy pink, but when she meets his eyes, something in her chest still thinks, “Hello. I’m glad to see you.”

She doesn’t mean to say anything beyond a quick greeting, but the words start anyway. “I’ve given up…” She inhales quickly, marshalling herself. “I gave up quite a bit, to help Michael and Sharon. And I don’t regret any of it. It was all worth it for Sharon to grow up stably, surrounded by people who love and support her. But I won’t pretend that it’s entirely easy.” She’s looking at him very directly now. “In a few years, when Michael finds work that lets him be here all the time, when Sharon is a little older, I won’t be doing data analysis. I’ll have my old job back and I’ll know that I made the right choice to be with my family for a while.” Her voice moves quieter. She lays one hand over the other. “But I’m afraid that I will regret deciding that the two of us being together would be so detrimental to Sharon’s upbringing that I would completely exclude the possibility.”

Steve stares at her for a moment. “Not that there’s much competition, but that is the fanciest way I’ve ever been asked out.” He lets out a short breath, the muscles of his face cautious and hopeful. “And I think we might need to stop talking about these things in front of a couple dozen five-year-olds.”

“Yes.” The smile comes as a surprise to them both and he returns it immediately. “Sharon has suggested that you might like to come over for dinner. We’re free on Friday.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Excellent.” She lifts her chin, checks on Sharon one last time, and backs toward the door. “I hope you can cook.”

His smile crosses the boundary to a grin. “Not at all.”

Absolutely without meaning to, she grins back. “Well, we can work on that together.”


End file.
